My Most Dangerous Secrets
by jackala345
Summary: The International School for Spies. The Global Intelligence Training Center. Both powerful. Both brilliant. Both rivals. And both deadly. But when the ISS is infiltrated, and the very heart of its system is jeopardized, Annabeth Chase, ISS top trainee, must work with new recruit Percy Jackson to find the source of the threat, and discover some very dangerous secrets along the way.
1. Couples And Where I Fit In

**Hey guys! Yes, you read this right. I am restarting My Most Dangerous Secrets (and this _is_ the same author that wrote it before, so no plagiarism going on here). I've come up with a completely different plot for it, much better planned-out, which I think is a _lot_ better, so if you could read and review, that would be great!**

**I'm also working on the next chapter of To Steal A Heart (for those of you who ship Lily/James - Harry Potter - as well as Percy/Annabeth), and I should have it up sometime next month. Maybe.**

**I'm not going to update this very frequently, except perhaps the next chapter because I feel like this one just sets the premise instead of really getting into the story, so please don't expect weekly updates. With two stories going on (I'm not even sure this is a good idea, but I had a total oh-God-story-idea moment and had to start) I feel like each update time will be slower and slower. Sorry about that. I'm not very good with deadlines.**

**Otherwise, those of you who read MMDS last time (before I deleted it), trust me, this is a LOT better! PLEASE just try it out, it would make my day!**

**Thanks so much!**

**jackala345**

* * *

Chapter One: Couples and Where I Fit In

I've always felt that this world can be divided into raw twosomes. Black and white (I prefer black). Coke and Pepsi (Coke, definitely). Day and night (night). Odd and even, fat and skinny, fast and slow, tall and short. Pretty and ugly. Perfect and flawed. Right and wrong. Yes and no.

There's a lot of couples in this world, I admit it. And many of them have applied to me in the past – but not the ones you might think. I'm not really the kind of girl you see everyday in the streets. Or maybe I am; maybe you've seen me before, but I'd hazard a guess and say that I haven't crossed your mind since.

Don't worry, I'm not offended. If you looked closely (although I've gotten _very, very_ good at hiding my feelings, so you probably wouldn't see anything out of the ordinary) you'd actually say I'm rather relieved. The way I live, the more you blend in, the better, and believe me, I've had a _lot_ of practice.

I know you're wondering where I'm trying to say here; sorry, I've never been good at getting to the point. Roundabout way of thinking and all that. Ha, there I go again with the tangents. You see, just like I've had a lot of practice with remaining incognito, I've also been trained _fiercely_ in the art of lying. And you might be thinking, _what kind of parents let their children learn to lie?_ Yeah, I'd agree. So telling you all this – straight facts, no embellishment or flashy fabrications – it's a stretch for me.

But driving straight to the core: basically, my life revolves around three pairs.

True and false.

ISS and GITC.

And, most importantly, life and death.

I know you understood the first and third, and don't look so surprised, because I'm not making any of this up. I told you – true and false. Now, I get why you'd be skeptical, because usually I deal with false. I fib. I invent stories. I worm my way out of situations by telling blatant lies to people's faces, and I don't feel any guilt afterwards. You can go tell my mom and dad what a horrible kid they've raised, and they won't ground me – actually, they'll side with me. Because I just told you: the way _I _live, true and false can sometimes be the extremely thin, wobbly tightrope between life and death.

But I'm getting off topic again.

I know you're still curious about pair #2: ISS and GITC. Of course, you don't know what they stand for. There are somewhere around two hundred people in this world that know the _true_ meaning of ISS and GITC. And I don't mean to brag or anything… but I'm one of them. I've been there since the beginning. Four years – that's how long I've worked, that's how long I've fine-tuned my body and my mind until my reflexes are so keen I could spear a mosquito on the tip of my knife from ten feet away.

Yeah, I have a knife. And no, I'm not kidding – I could actually do that.

See, I'm a trainee of the ISS. Sorry, used the acronym out of habit. What I meant to say is: I'm a trainee, student, apprentice, whatever, of the ISS, more commonly known (but not by much) as the International School for Spies.

The name means exactly what it sounds like. The ISS recruits people they think have potential – "potential" being a broad term here. I was chosen for my brains and my smarts. My best friend here (although we don't get much girl-on-girl time. Did I say we don't get much? I meant we don't get _any_), Thalia Grace, was enlisted for her superb natural athletic ability. She's fast, and I mean _fast _– and then trains them. Hard. We run, we climb ropes, we climb trees, we climb smooth cliffs, we complete obstacle courses, we throw knives, we shoot guns, we learn, we memorize, we cram… and what for? C'mon, use your deductive reasoning skills. Yep, you got that right. The ISS trains us to become spies.

It might horrify you, it might intrigue you. For me, a small girl whose entire perspective on existence was changed at the age of twelve when a scary-looking man approached her in a tuxedo and swore her to secrecy, well, it provided me with an opportunity. I'm not what you'd call the most social person ever, and though I scored top grades on all tests in middle school, I wasn't… liked. ISS changed that. ISS let me flourish, expanded my knowledge and taught me to act appropriately in any situation, forced me through five-mile courses in the mud until I could complete them in under half an hour. ISS allowed me to _really_ see my "potential", something I thought would never emerge from my introverted, 4'11" shell, and, when the chance to shine was handed to me on a silver platter, you can bet I took it for all it was worth.

I'm a spy, yes. I've been on missions and uncovered secrets that would make you shiver in your sleep; I've been in multiple (as in, more than one) life-or-death situations; I've army-crawled through a muddy forest laced in barbed wire in order to return my intelligence to my superiors, my knife held between my teeth. I've done a lot that you could never dream of doing, and a heck of a lot more beyond that.

Yes, my parents (parent, I live with my dad. Mom's off somewhere in Greece with her boyfriend) know about it. And yes, lovely daddy there still makes me do my homework.

I'm a spy, and it might be rough, but ask anyone here, and I swear to God, they'll all tell you the same thing. It's _fantastic_.

The not-so-fantastic part about it is, coincidentally, the other half of ISS's "pair". GITC. The Global Intelligence Training Center. They're just like us. They train recruits, too; they push them just as hard as us, they try to gather just as much information. So you might think, hey, maybe ISS and GITC could collaborate, get two times the amount of info they do now, right?

Absolutely, completely, and utterly _wrong_.

ISS and GITC are a pair for a reason. Hint: they're _opposites_. ISS trains for good. We work to collect knowledge in order to _help_ the people, to _help_ the community, to _help _the world. GITC, on the other hand, works for the people who care more about personal gain than they do for the sake of others. They might be just as strong (maybe even stronger) than ISS is, but they're led by those who are, in essence, the "bad guys".

To put it (very) lightly, you could call us _rivals_.

ISS and GITC have been in a feud that goes as far back as the establishment of both our schools. We've always been fighting, we've always been "at war", per say. We compete, in a sense, and by doing this, we've gotten into a lot of close scrapes with each other. Close, as in good apprentices on both sides have died, and others have just barely escaped death themselves.

Close here is not a relative term. Close means _close_.

Get the life and death situation thing now?

The thing is, though, despite the major antagonism between the two intelligence agencies, neither has really done anything that directly threatens the other. Sure, we might find out something vital before GITC does, and that will put us ahead; the next day, vice versa. Just like the spies we train, we tiptoe around things. We hide and we wait and we don't rush out into the open until we've found out everything we possibly can from lurking in the shadows. Which basically means never. (One of the sayings that's been drilled into our heads from the beginning: _You can never know too much_). ISS and GITC are almost entirely unknown for a reason, and that reason is because we are stealthy, and we are _smart_.

ISS has never endangered GITC. GITC has never endangered ISS. It's an unspoken rule; it just _doesn't happen_.

Until now.

* * *

I'm Annabeth Chase, and I'm sixteen years old. I can run a mile in quite under five minutes, I can gun down a man from forty yards away, I can climb over a smooth, ten-foot wall in the time it takes you to brush your teeth. I've learned to grapple up the side of a building and make my way down a shadowy corridor unseen. I can recite all the world's countries and capitals in backwards alphabetical order, I can do calculus like no one's business, and I can figure out all your petty little riddles while half-asleep.

I'm the ISS's top trainee. I'm 5'8", blonde and gray-eyed, and I can kill faster than you can say "Sally sells seashells by the seashore."

In all my years at the International School for Spies, I have never dealt with _anything_ like this.

* * *

**So, what'd you think? Have I lost my touch? Should I continue?**

**Reviews are white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies.**

**Love,  
jackala345**


	2. Things Happen, None of Which Are Good

**Haha, yeah, I know. It's been a while. Like, a month.**_  
_

**But a lot happens here, so I hope it makes up for my lack of updates!**

**Chapter 8 of TSAH should be up very soon.**

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Chapter Two: Things Happen, None of Which Are Good

The death was dramatic enough in itself, made more so by the manner in which Kurt Stewart was found afterwards. Later, people would speculate as to what exactly caused him to die clutching his throat in a grip so tight it had to be pried open – and the detectives would wonder if the cause of death might have been strangulation instead of poison – along with, of course, speculating as to why Kurt Stewart died at all.

Stewart was forty years old, the picture of health, and one of the executive board, a board that headed the entire ISS; its earliest members had founded it, and now they were the ones who launched missions, financed missions, received the intelligence brought back by missions, and analyzed said intelligence. It consisted of ten people, all graduates of the school, all razor-sharp in both mind and body and just as adept in any skill as they had been twenty years ago. There was a reason why they had made it to the top, after all. And Kurt Stewart, although he had held one of the lowest positions in the board – being simply "the one who made the budgets" – was still part of it. Which was why it caused such uproar when one of the trainees went to talk to him after lunch and found the man prostrate on the floor, eyes bulging and hands clamped viselike around his own neck, pink and red in the face and completely, utterly, without-a-doubt dead.

The boy who'd discovered him, a lovely (awful… arrogant… annoying…) youth by the name of Ian, was still hyperventilating in his bedroom.

I heard the news only confidentially; after all, it could have been a freak incident, a one-in-a-billion thing. Key word is "could." My mentor and personal trainer, Chiron (a man who was also part of the executive board) told me later that day during studies, and his entirely too-calm demeanor about the thing put me off a bit. Chiron is never _that_ placid about anything unless he's trying to stay composed.

Suffice to say, I'm a little scared.

And I _never_ get scared.

* * *

I can't believe it.

I can't _fucking believe it!_

* * *

Chiron summoned me from lunch this afternoon, which was completely normal – mentors are allowed to do that, us trainees at their beck and call and whatnot – and asked me to come to his office – which was _also_ completely normal, as he probably just wanted to talk to me further about Stewart's death. Maybe he'd figured out something new on it? Maybe he even wanted me to analyze something?

Not to brag or anything, but I was recruited to the ISS for my smarts. My brains. As in, _I am a very intelligent human being_. So that assumption, at the time, made perfect sense. (As a matter of fact, it still does! Why couldn't Chiron just have asked me to take a look at some blood samples? Why? _Why?_) He could even have wanted me to go on a mini-mission! Take a snoop around, see what I could find! I'm not the top trainee here for a reason – I can _do_ missions! They are my… what's it called? My comfort zone! My box! My _easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy-sure-Chiron-whatever-you-say-just-PLEASE-DON'T-GIVE-ME-A-NEW-RECRUIT-TO-TRAIN!_

But thanks to my luck, that's exactly what I got.

I went into Chiron's office, all "Hey Chiron, you called?" Smooth and casual, thy name is Annabeth Chase. I was chewing on the remains of my sandwich (bacon and cheese, my favorite) and dressed in my daily, don't-really-care attire of jeans and a T-shirt. Hey, when you wake up at four-thirty every morning to start your day, style isn't exactly your priority. I don't even know want to know what my hair looked like.

So everything was going fine and dandy… until that "Hey Chiron, you called?"

And then of course my entire day decided to screw with my brain and send me on a long spiral _downward_.

Chiron looked a little more serious than usual, which should have set off alarms in my head, but I was just assuming that he looked so somber because of the Stewart fiasco. His hands were steepled on his desk (typical), but there wasn't any fatherly smile in his eyes (a little less than typical), and, oh yeah, did I forget to mention? There was _someone else in the room!_

_Definitely_ not typical.

Enter Perseus (excuse me, _Percy_. What kind of name is "Perseus," anyway? Sounds like something out of a freaking Greek myth) Jackson.

I stopped in my tracks, in all my beautiful, sandwich-chewing glory. Let me tell you something – Annabeth Chase does not surprise easily. But there I was, frozen, dead-on _surprised_.

There was a brief pause, in which I was able to recover and start studying the tall, admittedly handsome boy standing by Chiron's desk.

He needed a haircut; his too-long black hair fell into his eyes, which were a startling shade of green. He looked around six feet tall, lean and muscled, hands stuck in his jean pockets. The expression on his face was one of casual awkwardness, which, believe me, is a hard look to pull off, but he (annoyingly enough) managed it. The left side of his mouth twitched up into a smirk when he caught sight of me, and I don't care how awful I looked at that moment, I just wanted to whip my trusty knife out of my boot and acquaint it with his face. Or his stomach. You know, whichever was closer.

Instead, in an incredible display of self-control that I must commend myself on, I managed to keep my itchy fingers clenched in a fist and instead turned to Chiron, arching my eyebrow in the universal what-the-hell-is-going-on expression. "Chiron? Who is this?"

"Ah, well, you see, Annabeth," began Chiron, making as if to get up from the desk, but smirky-boy there in the corner beat him to it.

"I'm Percy Jackson, new recruit. Nice to meet you. And you are?" He stepped forward and stuck out his hand, which I ignored. Quite snobbily, if I do say so myself.

"New recruit?" was my only acknowledgment. "_New recruit?_ Chiron, why are we recruiting new people? Stewart just _died_ today, in case you've forgotten – we don't have any space for a _new recruit!_ How do you know he's even – "

Chiron cut me off with a hand. "Annabeth, calm down. Perseus here has not been chosen lightly – "

"Percy," interjected the _new recruit_. Chiron and I both looked at him, and he flushed slightly, scuffing his toe against the floor. _Ha_. "Percy. Just… call me Percy."

"… _Percy_ here has not been chosen without much deliberation…"

"And you just _decided_ to let him in?" I interrupted.

Okay, so I know I was being a little rude here, but I was _angry!_ New recruits are a big deal – you can't just entrust anyone with the secret of the ISS. It's weighing a lot on a person's character. Recruiting isn't something done lightly. And now, when Stewart had just died of _extremely_ mysterious causes, and _anyone _could be a suspect… well, excuse me for being a little suspicious!

"Yes, we did. Annabeth, you need to calm down. Percy is as trustworthy as anyone here, and the reason we chose him is because… well…" Here he hesitated. Patient as I am, Chiron was stretching it a bit. My hand leaned towards the knife in my boot again.

"Well, _what?_"

"You're going to train me," blurted out Perseus.

"And we know that you are one of the most trusted of all the ISS trainees," added Chiron.

Flattery. I didn't _need_ flattery! I needed cold, hard facts. I could _deal_ with cold, hard facts. What I could _not_ deal with were three things: flattery, annoying children, and Perseus Jackson.

"Tra – _train?_" I spluttered after a moment of rather embarrassing silence. "What d'you mean, _train_?"

"I mean exactly what I – excuse me, what Percy here – said. I mean you are going to train him. Of course, he will be going to classes with everyone else, but you will be, let's say, his mentor." I tried to protest, but Chiron held up a hand and continued. "Annabeth, you are one of our strongest spies. You _know_ that with another ten or fifteen years, you'll have your spot waiting for you on the executive board. Percy has a lot to learn, and you will train him. Think of it as another class. A class where you learn to be the teacher."

"But I don't _want_ to be the teacher!" I cried, throwing my hands up – once I could get a word in edgewise, that is. "I want to _learn!_ I want to keep learning! Chiron, I can't train _anyone_, much less _him –_ "

"Excuse me, but could you please stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Perseus cut in.

"Oh shut up, you!" I rounded on him. "First rule of ISS – speak only when spoken to! Don't talk when you don't have to!"

"You seem to have some trouble with that," drawled Perseus, crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels, smirking.

Chiron stifled a chuckle, and I spun to face him. My mentor simply grinned. "I like him."

"Ugh!" At this point, I was seriously contemplating that knife in my boot. If not for Chiron and Perseus, to end my own pitiful life. Instead, I pointed at my stupid new _trainee_ – mentor, good GOD – and sent him my best glare. "You – Perseus – breakfast is at five. Be at the cafeteria, dressed and ready to go. First class is at five-thirty. If you're not there… well, you're glad I'm patient, but you do _not_ want to see me when I'm truly pissed. Let me tell you: there are at least three weapons hidden on my person right now. You do not want to see me use them against you. Ever."

Satisfied that I'd gotten the last word, I pivoted on my heel and stomped out, holding the shreds of what dignity I had left in the palm of my hand.

"It's _Percy_!" was the last thing I heard before the door slammed shut behind me.

In the hall, I leaned my head against the wall and groaned. Stupid self-control. Why couldn't I just have stabbed myself when I had the chance?

And that's what happened at lunch. I just have the best luck, don't I?

* * *

It's dinnertime, six-thirty, and Percy still hasn't shown up. When I first came in, I looked around to see if I could catch a glimpse of said tall, black-haired idiot, but he wasn't there.

"Hey." I glance up, and Thalia Grace plunks her tray down next to me and sits. I nod in greeting, then turn back to my pasta, picking at it.

A word on Thalia:

She's my best friend here. We were recruited at around the same time (she a little before me) and, as the only two girls in that group of newbies, we stuck together. Instead of being chosen for her smarts, she was selected because of her speed. Man, that girl can run like nobody's business. Thalia's also kind of fierce-looking; she's nearly three inches shorter than me, but she's skinny, and her hair is short and spiky, dyed a black that's so dark it's almost blue. She's good with the knife, but her weapon of choice is something completely different – the bow and arrow. Which is weird, because it's so hard to carry around and hide, and yet Thalia's nearly as adept with missions as I am.

"Why the long face?" Thalia bites into her burger – I have to say, the ISS has the best food – and takes a sip of her Coke.

I open my mouth to respond, but then of course the reason for my moodiness saunters into the cafeteria, comfortable as you please, and I groan, dropping my head into my hands in order to keep from seeing him.

Thalia's nothing if not observant, so she immediately looks up and catches sight of the bane of my existence. "Him?"

"Yes," I say, muffled somewhat by my fingers obscuring my mouth. "Yes. Him. Ugh."

I can sense Thalia studying him. "Well, he's kind of handsome, but really not your type…"

"NO!" My head shoots up so fast I nearly get whiplash. "No, I don't _like_ him! I have to _train _– "

"Hey, Anniebell," says a voice behind me. Oh, _God_.

Thalia snickers.

I turn slowly, gritting my teeth to keep from shooting every expletive I know into the air. I mean, the poor young trainees' _ears_. "Annabeth," I grind out. "It's _Annabeth_. Not… Anniebell."

"Sorry." He doesn't _look_ sorry. Percy Jackson slides easily into the seat next to me, setting a tray onto the table. I study his food choices. Burger, Pepsi, blue Jell-O.

"Please leave." I face Thalia, who's smirking. Stupid girl. I thought she was my _friend_.

She leans over and whispers, "Definitely not your type. I'd think you'd punch out anyone who dared to call you Anniebell."

_I'm trying very hard not to_. "Shut. Up."

Percy chugs his Pepsi. "So, Annabeth, aren't you going to introduce me?"

"No."

Thalia grins. "I'm Thalia Grace, Annabeth's best friend."

"At the moment, not so much." I take a determined bite of pasta.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Anniebell?" Thalia mocks, finishing off her burger and sipping at her Coke.

Calm down, Annabeth. Murder is not a good example for the children. Despite my stern self-scolding, I'm _dying_ to grab my knife, stab both of them, and run.

"I'm Percy Jackson. Hasn't Annabeth told you yet? I'm her new trainee."

"Trainee?" Thalia actually looks surprised. Ha. Take that. "No, she hadn't told me." Cue death glare at Annabeth. I roll my eyes.

"I _would_ have, except then he showed up. Two more seconds and you would have known."

For a few moments, there's silence (thank God) and then Percy – who else? – breaks it.

"Food here's good, isn't it?"

Thalia and I both look at him, the same expression mirrored on our faces: _Really? All the conversation topics in the _world_ and you choose _that_ one?_

He holds up his hands. "Whoa, just trying to make conversation."

"_Definitely_ not your type," Thalia murmurs in my ear.

"God!" I stand abruptly, picking up my tray. "I'm leaving!"

* * *

"I think we have a lead on Stewart's death," Chiron says, shuffling some papers on his desk absentmindedly.

"Really?" I edge forward, excited against my will. "Anything I can help with?"

"Not yet." Disappointed, I pull at the ends of my hair. "But soon. The scientists have been analyzing his blood samples, and they think they've found the poison used."

"Which was…?"

"Cyanide. Unusual, because it is not a commonly used poison. Not many would be able to pull off the utilization of cyanide, and even less would be able to use it to kill one so high up. Stewart was known particularly for the security measures he took. Which means…"

My brain is working overtime. See, _this_ is something I can do! "Highly efficient assassins. Most likely well-trained."

"Exactly." Chiron opens a drawer and riffles through it for a moment before pulling out a packed file; he tosses it onto the desk, and I glance at the title. _GITC_.

"The GITC?" I'm stunned. Sure, the GITC and ISS are rivals, and sure, we've had indirect conflict, but they've never attacked us directly, nor have we. "It can't be, Chiron. They've never targeted us."

"I know." My mentor scratches his head and opens the file. "But look." He flips through the contents before pulling out a sheet of paper filled with neatly typed font.

_Victim: Ally Park_

_ Location: Oklahoma City, Oklahoma_

_ Cause of Death: Cyanide Poisoning_

_ Suspect: GITC_

_ Status: CONFIRMED_

Below is a report, which I scan quickly – details about the death, setting, time, etc. Standard protocol.

"This is one death, Chiron," I begin slowly, reluctant to accuse anyone, regardless of my hate for the GITC. "We've used poisons too, when necessary. You can't just assume – "

Instead of interrupting me with words, Chiron places another paper on top of Ally Park's.

_Victim: Jeffrey Zhuang_

_ Location: Charlotte, North Carolina_

_ Cause of Death: Cyanide Poisoning_

_ Suspect: GITC_

_ Status: CONFIRMED_

"Twice?" I ask, once I'm done reading. Once might be unrelated, but twice… My suspicions are growing. Rapidly. Exponentially.

"Twice," Chiron confirms. "This isn't a coincidence, Annabeth."

"I know. Highly trained assassins, extremely efficient… if it wasn't us… you're right. There's only one plausible explanation. GITC… God, Chiron, but why? Why now?"

He doesn't have an answer; I know it. But before he can make up any excuses, the door to the office slams open, making us both jump. I drop the sheet in my hands and bend to pick it up, careful not to crumple it.

It's a tall, blonde boy I vaguely recognize – what's his name? Logan? Lars? – and he stumbles in, a shell-shocked expression painted across his face, his blue eyes dazed. He doesn't seem to notice that he's just disrupted an important mentor-trainee meeting, and even if he did, I don't think he'd care.

"Luke?" (Right, that's his name) Chiron's voice is edged with impatience. "What is it?"

The boy sucks in a breath of air and straightens up, running an agitated hand through his hair. "Chiron. Chiron… they told me to come get you."

"I'm in the middle of something right now."

"No, no… it's important. Helga Jones? The board member… one who funds the missions? She's… she's dead."

* * *

**Reviews are talking to the boy you like.**

**Love,  
jackala345**


	3. A Day in the (Not-So-Normal) Life

**I know there's no excuse to how late I am, and I'm very sorry. Really. I've been incredibly busy, and just recently typed out this chapter for you. SO sorry that this is like, three months overdue.**

**Please enjoy!**

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Chapter Three: A Day in the (Not-So-Normal) Life

Chiron is pacing back and forth - dizzy from watching him, I drop my gaze to my lap, where my hands are clenched tight in a fist. My knuckles are white. Next to me, Perseus - 'scuse me, Percy - is sitting upright and rigid, like he's in the freaking military or something. I elbow him and he jumps; I turn away, stifling a giggle despite the seriousness of the issue at hand.

Luke, the boy who brought the news, is standing in front of Chiron's desk, arms crossed over his chest. I take a moment to study him. He's alert: his bright blue eyes stalk Chiron's footsteps and his entire body is tense. Like everyone in the ISS, there's not a hint of fat on him - I'd hazard a guess and say he's a little shy of six-and-a-half feet tall, athletic, good with a knife and gun. His face looks like it's been chiseled out of granite; a mop of blonde hair and a shadow of dark across his chin give him a rugged look, and a scar scratches its way down his left cheek. Blade, I'd say. Nothing leaves that deep of a wound - nor that clean of one.

I deem him strong, fast, smart, and attractive. What else is there to say?

Chiron stops his pacing for a moment to pick up the GITC file from his desk. "Cyanide," he mutters. "Only three or four reported cyanide deaths over the span of nearly twenty years, so why now?" He tosses down the file. Keeps pacing.

Helga Jones died of cyanide poisoning. Red-faced and skin flushed pink, she looked almost exactly like Stewart. Except female. The scientists bringing in the blood-test results had just confirmed what we already knew. By some mystery, Helga was as dead as Stewart, in the same manner, and only a day after. A budgeter and a financier gone. Who was next?

"Luke, when did you find Helga?"

My head snaps up at the sound of Chiron's voice; from the corner of my eye, I see Percy do the same, automatically straightening up even more, if it's even possible. Now I know what they mean when they say "ramrod posture." Having used an old-school rifle a couple of times, I don't think anyone can get straighter than a ramrod; Percy's getting pretty damn close.

"Well, my mentor called me to see him after lunch, just standard business. He wanted to go over how I was doing in trainings, y'know, the usual stuff. He asked me a bit about Stewart's death, but since that wasn't assigned to him, we didn't talk about it much, except he asked me what I thought about the suspicions - "

"Suspicions?" I interrupt. Luke turns his blue-eyed gaze on me; I refuse to blush. "Sorry. Suspicions about what?"

"I was getting to that." Although the statement itself should be annoyed, he tinges it with a smile, which I both appreciate and take offense at. "Suspicions that the GITC did it, of course." All right, so that was demeaning. "I told him that in all the years I've been here, the GITC has never full-on attacked us like this, so why would they now?"

"Exactly!" The words burst out of me before I can help them. Percy chuckles next to me. "Rule number one, Annabeth?"

I turn on him. "Oh shut up, you. Your posture is like a freaking drill sergeant's."

Luke laughs at that - I'm liking this guy more and more with each passing minute - "If you two are done…"

Never mind.

"Annabeth. Percy. Focus." Chiron's stopped pacing; he stands leaning against his desk, crossed arms and fidgety. "Luke. Please continue."

Luke runs a quick hand through his hair, jerky and habitual. "I told him that GITC has always been on the edges of our radar, though, so we definitely shouldn't rule them out. Then we talked a bit more, and he dismissed me, so I left. I was on the way to my civics lessons - my classroom passes right by Helga's office. I was running a little - I was late - when I heard a loud thump, and went to investigate: when I did, Helga was dead on the floor."

I'm leaning forward, listening intently, soaking up every detail. Luke pauses for breath, and Chiron drums his fingers impatiently on the desk.

"Then? Then what?"

"I ran into the room, saw her, yelled for help, and the civics teacher came running. They sent me to get you, since you're the one assigned to the case, and here I am."

Luke finishes his story and rocks back on his heels, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Chiron is nodding in that slow, contemplative way he has when he's thinking. I'm sitting with my hands wedged under my thighs; I sneak a glance to Percy and see he's propped his elbows onto his knees and is staring at Luke with those green eyes of his. I can see the wheels turning in his head, and his brow is furrowed like he doesn't quite believe Luke's story, but why not? I see no holes in it.

I watch Percy carefully until he relaxes. He slumps back and drop his hands into his lap. I don't know what to think of that boy.

* * *

I share a room with Thalia. It's past midnight when I slip inside, treading as quietly as I can, but she's a light sleeper and raises her head to blink at me from her bunk. "Whatchu doing up so late?"

"Talking to Chiron about the case. Gathering hints." I wriggle out of my jeans and pull on sweatpants, tie my hair up into a haphazard bun. I check the clock and groan - I'm not going to get much sleep tonight.

"And Percy, too?" She's awake enough to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively at me - I give her a slap on the head as I make my way to my bunk.

"Urgh. _You're _just as annoying as he is."

"Seeing as you like him, I'll take that as a compliment," Thalia replies snidely, and turns over, pulling her blankets up to her chin.

"Not in the mood right now. I'll whack your butt at weapons training tomorrow, though." I flop into bed and yank the covers over my head. "G'night."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite."

I'm asleep within seconds.

* * *

_I'm in a dark cell, the only light filtering through the door. It's damp and dark and smelly, and I'm crouched in a corner, fiddling with something: of all things, a tube of toothpaste. Beside me, a shape moves - my subconscious jumps until I realize it's Percy._

_What is he doing in my dream?_

_His hair is a rat's nest, and his skin is dirty and smudged in the faint light. A cut highlights his cheekbone, and he's limping slightly as he settles himself by my side, chewing morosely on a chunk of bread. Even his green eyes have lost some of their sparkle. His shirt is in rags, his sneakers are ripped and faded. He looks terrible._

_I glance down at myself and am surprised to see my clothes streaked in grime, practically falling off my frame. There's a gash on my calf - touching it, I feel nothing. My hands are coated in dirt, and the toothpaste tube is dark with dust as well. Blonde hair falls over my shoulder in a greasy lump. I'm sure I look just as bad as Percy, if not worse._

_He hands me a piece of bread, and I take it - my dream-self recognizes hunger. The grain is thick and the food is stale, but to me it's a meal worthy of a king. I put the toothpaste down and am just about to point at it - it's important, somehow - but then Percy opens his mouth to take his last bite, and I see the eyes on his tongue._

_They're blue as the sky, but more cerulean - they blink at me from under long lashes, cold and all-seeing. He pops the bread into his mouth and the eyes disappear, but I've gotten a glimpse, and a glimpse is enough; I struggle away from him, clutching the toothpaste in my hand like a life preserver, and crawl on all fours towards the door, stopping only when I bump into it. Percy follows, and as he laughs, those blue eyes are visible again, and they laugh with him._

_I press myself against the impenetrable jail door. Percy steps closer. His mouth opens wide._

* * *

I've never functioned well on four hours of sleep.

I bolt upright in bed at the beeping of my alarm and nearly fall out trying to turn the damn thing off. Thalia's already awake, and laughs as I stumble from underneath my warm covers. She yanks on a shirt and laces black combat boots over her jeans, brushes her wild, spiky hair with her fingers. I grope my way into the small bathroom attached to our room, turn on the sink, and douse my face in cold water. It wakes me up enough to run a toothbrush through my teeth and scrape my hair into a ponytail. Back by my bed, I throw on clothes and my favorite sneakers and make my bed quickly - standard ISS protocol, always keep your sleep space tidy - before following Thalia out the door.

The cafeteria is bustling by the time we arrive, trainees already seated and feeding hungrily before classes start. I check the clock - three to five - and line up, grabbing a banana, a mini box of cereal, a glass of milk, and a couple of muffins to tide me over after. I shake Frosted Flakes into my mouth and down the milk in one shot.

"Someone's hungry." Percy slides his tray next to mine - blueberry muffin, blueberry pancakes, Froot Loops, and a glass of orange juice. He drizzles (dumps) syrup onto the pancakes and adds a hefty spoonful of cinnamon sugar. Remembering my dream last night, I scoot surreptitiously away from him and snort. "Speak for yourself."

He shoots me a half-grin and trails behind me as I find Thalia and plunk my breakfast down beside her. "Hey, sleepyhead," she smirks as I tear apart a muffin and down half of it. Chocolate chips… _yum_. Instead of answering, I shove my glass towards her. "Go get me some more milk, why don't you."

"Ha. Yeah right." Thalia balances a bite of egg on her fork. "Get your trainee to do it."

"Good idea," I approve. "Percy!"

He glances up from where he's busy picking out blue Froot Loops and stuffing them into his mouth. _Weird_. "No way, Anniebell."

Thalia snickers; I glare at both of them. Thalia just shrugs, used to my intimidating stares, but Percy actually looks a little frightened. _Good_. I stick my cup out at him. "Percy Jackson, so help me God, I will whap your ass in weapons training today if you do not go get me some more milk right now."

He rolls his eyes and mutters, "Like you could beat _me_," but gets up and does what I say.

I sit back and raise a triumphant eyebrow at Thalia. She just laughs.

"You _so _like him."

I stick out my tongue childishly and take a bite of my banana to keep from replying.

* * *

Weapons training.

I'm sweaty and struggling as I grapple with Nick, one of the best knife-wielders in the school. We're just using the practice knives, dulled so we can't draw blood too easily, but it's still a close fight. Nick, tall and lanky and muscled, towers over me, but we're evenly matched in terms of skill; I ram my elbow into his stomach and twist away from him while he grunts in pain. We circle warily.

He shakes black hair out of his face and focuses his blue eyes on me, tracking my every move. Nick might strike as quick and stealthy as a lion, but I prefer to be a falcon. Powerful, free, and dangerous on the hunt. I spread my wings and give him a slight smirk. _Come and get me_.

He's not stupid, but he _is _a boy, testosterone-fueled and adrenaline-pumped. He lunges at me, still controlled, but driven by a hint of impatience. I duck under his arm and catch his blade on the hilt of my own. He presses downward. I yield a little, letting all his strength surge towards his arms, and brace myself with my legs; at the last moment I drop suddenly and roll to the side.

Unbalanced by the move, he stumbles - impressive, how quick he regains his balance - but I'm on him already. I slam a hand onto his wrist right where it hurts, and he drops his knife; in the same second I kick the side of his knee so he collapses, fist his curly hair in my hand, and yank his head back sharply. A golden blade kisses his throat.

"I surrender," he says. When I release him, he stands, rubbing his wrist where I hit him. "Good job, Annabeth. You hit hard."

"Accurately, though." I throw him a smile. He shakes his head jokingly and picks up his knife. "Nice fight."

"You too." Nick walks off, his stride long and comfortable. I stick my own knife into my belt and run a hand through my sweaty hair.

"My turn."

Percy, who's been leaning casually against the wall this whole time, watching, steps up onto the mat. I cock my head and give him a slow once-over: he's wearing athletic shorts, a T-shirt, and his stance is relaxed and ready, leaning forward on the balls of his feet slightly, loose. I smirk. "Weapon of choice?"

He covers the distance to the weapons wall in three quick strides and scans it only briefly before lifting off a long practice sword. Old-fashioned, medieval, but very effective. _Interesting_.

I laugh, full-out, and spin my knife into my hand. I toss it up once into the air, just for show, and catch it deftly, fingers curling around the handle. _My old friend_. "Percy Jackson, it is so _on_."

* * *

**Urgh. Not my best. Pretty much just a filler chapter, but I hope you liked it anyway! It's taking me a sec to get back into my normal writing mode.**

**Reviews are buttered popcorn,  
jackala345**


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